Stormrise

by Knizley, Skye

  Raven moved through the gloom, taking in the strange murals on the walls. Each of the paintings included members of the Ghede Loa, including such figures as Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte or Marinette, a member of the Kongo Loa. The paintings were all disturbingly surreal and depicted, when viewed closely, despicable acts taking place behind the Loa. Cannibals were supping on tender flesh behind Baron La Croix, while women were flayed alive behind Marinette.

  Shaking her head at the strange images, Raven continued deeper into the church, walking past the pile of incense on the altar and moving toward the closed doors in the far corner. She was nearly to them when they opened and a tall black man dressed in a long, white robe draped in gold chains stepped through. He smiled widely at Raven and spread his arms in welcome. Raven thought he looked like a parade float.

  “Good afternoon, Detective Storm,” the man said in a booming bass voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Tasker; I believe you have some questions for me regarding my vaudun?”

  Raven paused, somewhat surprised that the bocor knew her name. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tasker. I take it Marie told you I was coming?”

  The bocor shook his head, his mane of black hair rustling over his shoulders like angry snakes. “No, not at all. It was the Baron who told me you would visit. Come, please enter my sanctum and you may ask your questions.”

  The bocor stood aside and beckoned Raven toward the room behind him, his wide smile seeming to light up the otherwise gloomy passage. Raven nodded and passed through the entrance, the spot between her shoulder blades itching under the bocor’s dark-eyed gaze.

  The room beyond was tastefully decorated in shades of white and red highlighted with gold. A plush maroon carpet covered the floor while gold and white tapestries covered the walls, hiding what Raven assumed were cinderblock walls. A large altar, also covered in white and gold, served as both a place of worship and the bocor’s desk. A human skull sat on the edge, its empty mouth leering at the young detective, candles burning in its eyes. Behind the altar was the room’s only other piece of furniture, a large, oak throne painted with red and black symbols, topped with a black-painted human skull.

  “I apologize there are no other chairs,” the bocor said, closing the door behind them. “Please, feel free to use mine.”

  Raven glanced at the throne and shook her head. “No, thank you. This should only take a few minutes and I prefer to stand.”

  “As you wish,” the bocor replied, taking his place in the throne. “What exactly is it that I can do for you, detective?”

  “I’m currently working on a case involving two homicides. I found a gris-gris bag at both locations, with contents I believe you’re familiar with.” Raven pulled both King’s and Laveau’s photos from her purse. “Have you seen either of these two people before?”

  The bocor gave both the photos a cursory examination. “The male is Nathan King, an accountant of some repute. The woman is a dancer in Old Town that I’m only vaguely familiar with.”

  “How did you know Mr. King?” Raven asked.

  The bocor shrugged. “I didn’t, really. I created a gris-gris at the request of another. The gris-gris was for Mr. King. I needed to see his likeness to focus the totem.”

  Raven nodded and pulled another set of photos from her purse, these depicting the contents of the two gris-gris bags she had found. “Is this the item you created?” she asked, placing the photos on the altar.

  The bocor didn’t bother to examine the photographs. “I created both of them."

  “I see,” Raven said without surprise. “And what was the gris-gris bag supposed to do?”

  “Make the happy couple violently ill when together,” the bocor replied. “The young man who requested I make them seemed quite upset that Mr. King and the young woman were together. He thought making them sick for a few days would perhaps cause them to lose interest in one another.”

  “Do you know if it worked? Was the couple separated by your voodoo?” Raven asked.

  The bocor shrugged again and sat back into his plush throne, idly stroking the wood as a Bond villain might pet his cat. “That I don’t know,” he said. “All I can guarantee is the gris-gris bags worked as requested.”

  Raven leaned closer, ignoring the leering skull next to her elbow. “Obviously these weren’t made at King or Laveau’s request. Who asked you to make them?”

  The bocor shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Detective Storm. I can’t tell you that. My services are as confidential as a doctor’s.”

  “You admit to creating the harmful gris-gris bags and giving them to someone who may be a murderer,” Raven replied. “You can either cough up the person’s name or you can spend a few nights in jail on suspicion of murder.”

  The bocor laughed, the deep sound echoing off the walls of the chamber and seeming to surround Raven, making the hair stand up on her neck and her skin try to crawl off and hide.

  “Detective Storm, you know a murder charge against me will never stand. You have little evidence aside from some trinkets that most of your kind believe to be little more than harmless superstition. I have neither motive nor ill will towards your victims. But by all means, please feel free to arrest me; the best you can do is cite me for impeding your investigation. I’ll be out within a few hours and you’ll be no closer to finding your killer.”

  Raven continued to stare at the bocor, knowing he was right. Though she felt certain he had some connection to the two victims, aside from the gris-gris bags, she had no evidence and her instincts were not admissible in court. She had learned that as a rookie uniform.

  “You won’t tell me who requested your magic, even if the person could be a cold-blooded murderer who’s taken two innocent lives?” she asked, her voice pitched low.

  “Not won’t, Detective Storm. Can’t. My faith prevents me from disclosing the identities of those who come to me for help.”

  The bocor paused, meeting Raven’s eyes for a long moment. When she didn’t waver, he nodded once. “I’ll do this for you. I’ll look into the matter myself. If I believe this person is involved in your case, I’ll present him to you with no further complaints.”

  “That isn’t good enough,” Raven replied. “You’re not a police officer, nor can you guarantee a chain of evidence. I want the man’s name.”

  The bocor shrugged and extended his hands in front of him. “It is all I have to offer, detective. Either accept my offer or arrest me.”

  Raven growled in the back of her throat, fighting the urge to reach across the altar and slap the bocor with all her strength. “All right, Tasker,” Raven said at last. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You’d better have some information for me.”

  “As you wish, detective,” the bocor replied. “Enjoy your afternoon. I look forward to speaking to you again soon.”

  Raven snorted and turned away, finding her own way out of the disquieting temple without looking back at Tasker’s grinning face. She felt certain she would punch him if she did.

  Outside, the sun was hidden behind grey clouds shot through with purple and black, harbingers of an autumn thunderstorm about to break. Raven looked up at the clouds, watching blue tendrils of lightning crackle along their bellies.

  “Swell,” she muttered, huddling in her jacket. “Harry Callahan never has days like this.”

  Feeling as dark as the sky, she walked back to her Shelby and slid behind the wheel. Maybe there would be better news back at the district.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rain poured in black sheets from the sullen sky, drenching the Windy City in icy water that glittered in the streetlights. The Shelby’s windshield wipers beat out a steady thump as Raven threaded her way through rush hour traffic in an effort to get back to the station house before everyone was gone. The intense rain cut visibility to almost nothing, causing heavy traffic jams and, in some cases, flooding and closing roads. It was pitch dark by the time she arrived at the district station house and parked the Shelby in a spot near the stairs.


  The homicide office was empty when she arrived, though the lingering smell of Levac’s egg salad dinner and Frost’s top shelf tequila still lingered in the squalid workplace. Raven flopped into the chair behind her desk and used tissues to wipe down her new jacket before turning to the stack of files that, by the mustard stains on the edges, Levac must have left for her before he went home.

  The top one was Nathan King’s financial record. Levac had highlighted several sections that indicated the victim had made large cash deposits, each in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. These had been going on for the last year and totaled two hundred thousand dollars in total with no unusual withdrawals. That, combined with what they had found in King’s freezer, meant nearly half a million dollars in cash had fallen into King’s hands from an unknown source. Why was someone paying King in cash? Raven asked herself. And who?

  She reread Levac’s notes on the matter, which were less than helpful, and then moved to the next section, which was the final toxicology report on King. Most of the compounds were normal; however, Dr. Zhu indicated a trace amount of mercury had been found in the burned skin around the wound. Raven set that file aside and sorted through the pile until she found Victoria’s toxicology report, which she compared with King’s.

  “‘…including trace amounts of mercury’,” she read aloud. “What does mercury have to do with anything? It isn’t enough to kill them, and mad-hatter disease doesn’t blow up your stomach!”

  Raven sat back in her chair, staring at the file as if she could glean an explanation by sheer force of will. In her mind’s eye she saw Baron Samedi chasing the two victims with a spear made of liquid mercury that dripped a trail behind him as he ran, a vision she dismissed as a fantasy born of frustration. She rubbed her eyes with long-nailed fingers to brush away the vision and turned back to the files. She read each from cover to cover, searching for clues or an explanation, the only sound coming from the rain pounding against the window with such fury that it drowned out the rest of the sounds of the city.

  Two hours later, she leaned back, annoyed and frustrated. Nothing in the reports cleared up any of the mysteries; instead, they added enigmas to every clue. Both had been killed by damage to their stomachs and left lung. Mercury had been found in both victims, but not enough to cause any harm. Tasker had created gris-gris bags for each victim, but the gris-gris bags were intended to cause illness, not death. It was impossible to kill someone directly with voodoo; it was not in and of itself a destructive form of magic. Even if she thought it could have been done, no judge was ever going to believe her or give her a warrant to arrest anyone.

  Keeping a photograph of Tobias Boone, Raven stuffed the files into her ‘open’ file drawer and then slipped on her new leather jacket, luxuriating in the feel of the slick satin lining against her skin. The soft material still smelled like Francois, and somehow his masculine scent made her feel secure, as if she were wrapped safely in his arms.

  She smiled to herself and turned to leave the office, pausing to grab an umbrella from the lost and found bin near the back door. A few minutes later she was making her way towards Old Town, the Shelby’s windshield wipers fighting a valiant, but hopeless battle against the pounding autumn storm. She again parked in front of the deli, this time pausing to drop a few coins into the now-active meter.

  Inside, the deli smelled of fresh cold cuts, mustard and sliced onions, scents that always reminded her of Saturday afternoons with her father. Raven shook out her borrowed umbrella and left it near the door before approaching the counter. An attractive young man with shoulder-length brown hair, green eyes and a quick smile wiped his hands on his apron and approached from behind the counter.

  “Nasty storm, Miss. What can I get for you tonight?” he asked.

  Raven returned the young man’s smile and tapped on the case with one nail. “Let me have some of that rare roast beef with cheddar cheese and deli mustard on a hard roll. With a coffee to take away, please.”

  The man nodded and moved to complete her order. She watched him for a few seconds before turning to the window and looking at the traffic outside. Though the downpour had kept some of the tourists indoors, it looked as if many of the zone’s denizens were still venturing out. The sidewalk was surprisingly busy with people dressed in heavy raincoats, PVC clothing, and of course leather, which was always a staple of preternatural night life.

  Behind her, the clerk had placed a paper-wrapped sandwich and steaming cup of coffee on the counter. “Order’s up, Miss,” he called. “Will there be anything else?”

  Raven walked back to the counter, pulling a folded bill and Boone’s photo from her purse. “Actually, yes,” she said, holding out the photo. “Have you seen this man in the last few days?”

  The young man shrugged, not even glancing at the photo. “Nope. Sorry, can’t help you.”

  “Don’t you want to at least look at the photo before you answer the question?” Raven asked, raising the picture so it was right in front of him.

  With a sigh, the young man looked at the photo and Raven saw recognition flitter across his face before he again shook his head. “Nope, never seen the guy,” he said, a little less confidently.

  Raven nodded, still holding the photo in place. “Okay…you’ve officially never seen him. Now, unofficially, when and where did you last see him?”

  The man shrugged again and moved behind the case for what safety it offered. “I told you, I never seen him before. The sandwich and coffee is nine dollars even, please.”

  Raven put the photo in her pocket and laid the folded fifty on the counter next to the register. When the clerk reached for it, she put her hand on his, holding him in place with her nails.

  “Look,” she said, “I’m Detective Storm of the Chicago Police. I’m working on a murder case and I know you have seen this guy before. His name is Boone and he might be involved in two deaths and an attempt on my life. Tell me where you saw him and you can keep the change.”

  The clerk met Raven’s eyes and she saw real fear in his face. “All right…he came in a few days ago, had a chicken sandwich and sat alone by the window. When he finished, he left.”

  “That’s it?” Raven asked. “He ate a sandwich and left and that made you nervous?”

  The clerk swallowed and looked away from the cold green of Raven’s gaze. “No…” he said after a moment. “What made me nervous is he met up with a huge black guy in a robe just in front of the store. Something about him, the way he looked at me through the glass like he could see all the way to my soul, that’s what made me nervous.”

  Raven took her hand back and picked up her coffee. “Can you describe this black man?"

  The clerk rang in Raven’s order and pocketed her change before replying, “He was tall, almost seven feet tall, with lots of hair that looked like snakes, and a long braided beard.”

  “And he was wearing a robe?” Raven pressed.

  The clerk nodded. “Yes, a red and black one.”

  “Tasker,” Raven muttered. “Do you know where Boone was staying? Did he drive or walk?”

  “He walked,” the clerk said. “Probably from the Bethany Hotel down the block. It’s where all the lowlifes stay.”

  II

  Raven sat at a corner table and finished her coffee and sandwich, pondering what the clerk had told her. The black man Boone had met with was almost certainly the bocor, Tasker. That didn’t mean he was involved in the attack or the murder; she could think of a dozen reasons why the bocor would contact a man like Tobias Boone, but it was interesting and moved him to the top of the suspect list. It didn’t feel right, though. The bocor was somehow involved and operated on the very cusp of the law, but she felt certain he wasn’t the killer she was looking for. With that in mind, she left the small deli and walked the block and a half to the Bethany Hotel, an old Victorian hotel that catered to tourists who couldn’t afford the rates at the more expensive hotels downtown.

  The Bethany had seen better days; the on
ce opulent lobby, decorated with plush red carpeting, polished oak paneling and crystal chandeliers was now threadbare and tarnished, lit only by a pair of old lamps. To Raven, the room smelled of age, mold and desperation.

  A middle-aged woman dressed in a pink dress that nearly matched her pudgy face was sitting behind the counter. She looked up from her small, black-and-white television when Raven entered and favored her with a lukewarm smile.

  “Good evening, Miss,” she said in a pleasant enough voice. “Looking for a room to get out of the nasty weather, then?”

  Raven shook her head and presented her badge to the older woman. “No, thank you. I'm looking for some information, and a man I believe was registered here.”

  “We have several guests at the moment, officer…eh?” the woman said, squinting at the badge.

  “Storm. Detective Storm.” Raven exchanged her badge for a photo of Boone and held it out to the woman. “The man I'm looking for is named Tobias Boone, though he was probably registered under another name. Do you remember seeing him at all?”

  The desk clerk took the photo and raised a pair of glasses from the depths of her bosom, squinting at the image. She nodded and tapped the photo. “Oh, yes! I remember that hair! He registered under the name Justin Case and paid for a week in cash. I gave him room twenty-eight on the second floor. I was going to send my man up to clean his things out; his week expires today and he hasn’t been back.”

  “May I take a look?” Raven asked.

  The clerk handed Raven back the photo then pulled a key from the maze of cubbyholes behind her and handed that over as well. “Of course, Detective Storm. Just bring the key back when you're through."

  The second floor smelled almost as bad as the lobby, though the smell of desperation had largely been replaced by that of fear; the tang of stale sweat permeated the hallway and mixed with the smell of mold to create a true nasal symphony of sadness and decay. Raven walked down the hallway slowly, her eyes brushing over the framed paintings of Old Town that lined the walls, now cracked and faded with time and neglect. She recognized several local landmarks, as well as a few prominent citizens of the hotel’s heyday; at one time, the Bethany had been at the heart of the city, not at the bottom of the barrel.